his master was brought home dying. He had interfered in an affray in a
cafe and been stabbed.

He reached out and took Tom's hand; he closed his eyes, but still
retained his hold; for in the gates of eternity the black hand and the
white hold each other with an equal grasp, and softly murmured some
words he had been singing that evening--words of entreaty to Infinite
Pity.


_IV.--Freedom_


Mrs. St. Clare decided at once to sell the place and all the servants,
except her own personal property, and although she was told of her
husband's intention of freeing Tom, he was sold by auction with the
rest. His new master, Mr. Simon Legree, came round to review his
purchases as they sat in chains on the lower deck of a small mean boat,
on their way to his cotton plantation, on the Red River. "I say, all on
ye," he said, "look at me--look me right in the eye--straight, now!"
stamping his foot. "Now," said he, doubling his great heavy fist, "d'ye
see this fist? Heft it," he said, bringing it down on Tom's hand. "Look
at these yer bones! Well, I tell ye this yer fist has got as hard as
iron knocking down niggers. I don't keep none of yer cussed overseers; I
does my own overseeing and I tell ye things _is_ seen to. You won't find
no soft spot in me, nowhere. So, now, mind yourselves; for I don't show
no mercy!" The women drew in their breath; and the whole gang sat with
downcast, dejected faces. Trailing wearily behind a rude wagon, and over
a ruder road, Tom and his associates came to their new home. The whole
place looked desolate, everything told of coarse neglect and discomfort.